Jaina's Big Decision
by unseemly
Summary: Arthas is dragged back into Jaina's life, in chains, to await judgment. Unfortunately, he is just as appealing as ever. What on Azeroth is a lonely mage to do? Adult situations and language. Alternate universe.


**I do not own Warcraft. **

Jaina's Big Decision

...

Jaina Proudmoore could not believe her eyes. He was sitting there, in a magically sealed, Light reinforced, Argent Crusade prison cell, sporting nothing but his underwear, grinning at her.

After almost a decade of running homicidally amok and triumphantly laying claim to the illustrious title of Azeroth's Numero Uno, All-Time Badass_, _he had finally been corralled.

And weren't the gloating champions of the Light proud of themselves!

_"Arthas…" _Jaina sighed, and it did not escape the corrupted prince's attention how her voluptuous little body trembled with emotion at that deep, yearning exhalation of his name.

Even now, as the usurped Master of the Scourge, his demotion was still the furthest thing from Arthas's mind. He had, effectively, _moved_ _on_; and presently he was much more interested in the wanton stirrings that were reawakening in him at mere sight of the palpitating paradise that was Jaina Proudmoore.

"Jaina," he murmured, hoping to urge her to a similar response, "you are so very beautiful, my Lady."

This was a comment the mage struggled in earnest to dismiss, despite how she had longed to hear him say the words again, accompanied by his lingering gaze and the familiar, thoroughly improper smile that had always made her innards quiver.

She pondered him at length. Damn him! Why did he have to be so handsome? He should at least have chapped lips from all those years he'd spend ominously hunkering on his windy glacier.

'Ah, those lips,' Jaina reflected, 'I knew them well… and oh, did they know me!' Perhaps it was to be expected, but the fact that he was as desirable as ever just annoyed the _shit_ out of the conflicted mage.

Striving to maintain an air of composed gravity, Jaina frowned, and it certainly _felt_ formidable, "You're in big trouble, Mister," she declared, hands firmly placed upon her hips. "No charming your way out of this one." She hoped the words, at least, conveyed _some_ force and dignity, because the only thing she could think of at the moment was all that ready and willing muscle just sitting there, barely hidden beneath the grubby underclothes.

"I know," he said, hanging his shaggy head.

'Good Light,' Jaina thought, 'who the hell has been trimming his hair?' She'd never seen such a lapse in personal hygiene.

"I'm sorry, Jaina," he murmured.

Well, at least he was still rational enough to offer an _illusion_ of remorse for all the devastation he had wreaked. And speaking of reeking…

"You could use a bath, you stinker," she said with a sniff and a disapproving scowl. Not that it was especially unreasonable to forgo bathing in a land of perpetual ice, where anything even slightly warmer than frozen solid was considered downright balmy.

"Will you wash my back for me?" he whispered hopefully.

'He's obviously not suffering from any memory loss,' Jaina deduced with a moody snort.

He dared to wink suggestively, "Or whatever else you think might need _special_ attention…"

Jaina weakened at the mere thought, which earned her a knowing grin from the object of her despair.

There was an ever-popular question roaming Azeroth these days. She knew it all too well. Even total strangers had been known to risk life and limb by demanding it of her.

Essentially, its message was this: _Did she miss him? _

'Gods, what a STUPID question!' she concluded, especially when considering the smoking-hot, I-can't-keep-my-hands-off-you-so-just-fuck-me-why-don't-you! 'friendship' she and Arthas had once shared. Miss _that? _Oh _Hell_, YES! And the reckless, but endearing bonehead, who was the absolute and unequivocal _death_ _by_ _fire_ of common sense? She sighed, defeated. It could not be denied. In every way, he was all she had ever wanted.

"My sweet Jaina," the once-Lord of snowy wastes murmured seductively, his glittering eyes roaming admiringly over her luscious curves, an intimate, utterly wicked I'm-gonna-make-you-howl smile creeping across his face. She blushed and the smile grew bolder still.

"Can it," she said grimly, "You're in the doghouse, Big Boy. Adrift up shit creek, as it were." Jaina raised an emphatic finger, and shook it sternly. "This is a bit more serious than any of your past epic escapades." She peered at him, hoping for some sign that she had impressed upon him the peril of his current situation.

No such luck.

"Even as we speak," Jaina added, "the Argent Crusade, the Forsaken, and the Ebon Blade are all tussling amongst themselves to determine the most judicious, civilized way to slowly torture you to death for your crimes. Last I heard, Sylvanas was proposing a prolonged evisceration. Celebratory luncheon and fireworks included." She paused, "And frankly, you really kind of deserve it, Arthas."

"I _have_ outdone myself," was pretty much the full extent of his contrition.

Jaina grunted. How euphemistic.

"I do hope I don't have to explain to you all the numerous ways that killing your father was a major faux pas…" she said. "Something the people of Lordaeron would probably be a little upset with you about, if you hadn't killed all of them too." Arthas shrugged, unconcerned, his eyes twinkling mischievously, and Jaina's mind was inundated with memories of all the countless times this man had made her so flaming-furious she had wanted to scream with frustration.

This was not to even _approach_ the subject of being replaced in his affections by a **fucking** **sword**!

Her palms tingled with the desire to slap some sense into him. Or, failing that, just incinerate him. 'If he laughs,' Jaina decided grimly, 'I'm gonna kill him. I won't be able to stop myself.'

But _no_, he just smiled sweetly, looking absolutely adorable (damn him), and all such angry intentions sagged into impossibility.

_After all, she didn't want to be accused of being just like him, did she?_

"Don't think for a minute that the minor technicality of having no _living_ victims left to accuse you somehow lets you off the hook," she muttered heatedly. "No. Sylvanas and her rotting posse are just raring to have your head on a pike!" Clearly, he was still waiting for the bad news. "You may or may not know it, but she is now blaming natural disasters and even inclement weather on you and your smelly, rampaging Scourge."

Again, nothing but wasted air.

"It also might interest you to know that she has rewritten the book on squatter's rights," Jaina added, concluding forcefully with: _"You don't have a fucking kingdom anymore, Arthas!" _

"I love it when you talk dirty," he murmured.

Jaina sighed. So the reclamation of Lordaeron was obviously out as a motivation towards repentance.

"And just so you know," the mage declared, "Darion is hopping mad at you, and poor old Tirion has finally gone totally senile riding his unstoppable trolley of redemption…"

Arthas snorted laughter and she glowered at him until he looked suitably penitent. She wasn't fooled for a moment, considering that naughty gleam in his eyes. They continued to wander all over her, unreservedly randy. Just like he'd always done before. A look that had once been followed by his exciting touch. Oh, how she missed those gentle caresses, and the soft, whispering voice, so admiring of her treasures.

And now the telling blush commenced. It began in her inflamed nethers, and after inciting everything in _that_ region, it flew to her face, a tidal wave of rosy, rampant emotion. Still, she had to admit it, yes, it felt DAMNED good to be looked at in that special way again, after such a god-awful dry spell. Her frown deepened. Yet another grinding hardship that _he_ was entirely responsible for.

"You turned the world on its ear, Arthas. This is no laughing matter." Jaina was so pleased by the firm conviction in her voice. Yes, she could do it. She could stand up to his blatant sensuality. By the gods, she _would_ do it – treacherous jelly knees be damned!

"You could at least _pretend_ to be sorry for the mess you've made," she said gravely. "Thousands are dead, poor Bolvar is a singed pot roast on ice, and here you sit, twiddling your thumbs…"

'In your thin underwear,' her errant mind supplied. 'Leaving absolutely _nothing_ to the imagination…'

No, no, _no_… not going there.

Jaina concentrated fiercely on maintaining constant eye contact, and she was sweating from the effort. But Arthas, charismatic animal-magnet of her lust, knew her all too well. He only had to shift his hips and… _damn_ _her eyes! _Why did they insist upon defying her?

'And just look at you,' she thought grouchily, struggling to elevate her thoughts, but failing miserably, 'lounging there, shamelessly displaying yourself.' Yes, he knew exactly what he was doing. Well, it wouldn't work! No sir!

He was sprawled out on the narrow prison cot, one hand slowly caressing his hard belly, almost as if the idle gesture was _not_ calculated to drive her insane with lust. Jaina scowled. She knew him just as well as he knew her. His impish, green eyes were twinkling madly, his smile growing, right along with everything else.

Jaina groaned inwardly, watching with helpless longing as he stretched lazily and then relaxed. His lean, muscular body drooped gracefully, biceps flexing beautifully as he ran the fingers of both hands through his hair, brushing it back from his face, indolently rolling his head on the ratty pillow, to gaze at her fondly, all vulnerable and precious, with his bedroom eyes.

Just as he had always done before when he was inviting her to pounce him.

"Stop that!" she commanded, "I know what you're up to, Arthas Menethil. And it won't work!" My, how certain she did sound.

He was still smiling, undeterred, leisurely lifting the thin linen undershirt he wore, exposing his impressively chiseled belly.

Now that the righteous, blistered Bolvar had assumed the horrid helm, and Arthas had been forcibly relieved of his blighted armor, his smooth skin (oh, she remembered its texture well!) had lost much of its deathly pallor, regaining a trace of its once-familiar, healthy glow. His hair, never likely to fully recover its gold, had acquired the luminous hue of palest corn silk.

Jaina gnashed her teeth, assailed, as every memory she had virtually **sweated blood **to set aside suddenly roared to the forefront of her mind, sparing no detail. Her fingers spasmed. "No…" she moaned.

"_Yes_," he purred enticingly.

"I hate you," she lied, pouting.

Arthas lowered his eyes demurely and nodded, batting his long, pale gold lashes, even as that tempter's hand continued to reveal more and more until she found her gaze riveted to a hard, pink nipple; he touched it lightly and sighed. Despite a titanic effort to resist, Jaina could not contain a low whine of desperate longing. Yes, it was true: she wanted that nipple for her very own.

Shortly, he glanced up at her, the hand now moving to his throat. Yet another part of him she had always found irresistible – that strong, _sensitive_ throat, with all its thrilling, manly curves and hollows. Perfect for nuzzling, nibbling, and nestling into. And oh, how well she remembered his husky groans and sighs of pleasure when she had done so!

His fingers toyed briefly with a worn and battered chain around his neck, and then slowly, he pulled what it held from beneath his shirt.

Jaina gasped, "You _kept_ it," she whispered. "All this time."

"I lost everything, Jaina," he murmured, gazing wistfully at the locket, "but I never lost you," he looked so downcast, "or at least, the _memory_ of you."

_"Oh Arthas!" _Jaina cried. His green eyes returned to hers, soulful and entreating.

_ '_I'm taking back what's **mine**!' she resolved vehemently, flames blazing into her palms_, 'Screw_ the detractors! And to _H__ell_ with the consequences!'

Jaina pointed her burning hand at Arthas, "I'll _tear_ the darkness out of you, if I must!" she shrieked, pummeling the air with both fists, "One fucking shadow at a time!"

She had been denied _enough_. For once, things were going to go _her_ way!

_**And woe be unto any who dared stand against her!**_

With one decisive wave of her hand, and a wild cry of covetous bliss, Jaina blasted the magical locks off the cell door, and threw herself into Arthas's open, waiting arms.

**...**


End file.
